


An Abode For Jackals

by CourierNinetyTwo



Series: Mafia Blake AU [4]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Breathplay, F/F, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 18:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set two years before In The Blood. Cinder has a bargain to make with the White Fang and an offer Blake doesn't want to refuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Abode For Jackals

Blake slammed one fist into the dummy’s face, ducking an imaginary punch before reacting with an elbow to the gut. Each strike was a solid thud against the reinforced foam, making the stand shake, threatening to be torn from its mooring in the floor if any more force was used.

After a sharp exhale, two fingers were jabbed into the dummy’s throat, then its eyes, crescent-shaped marks embedded deep into soft, false sclera. Gambol Shroud was displayed on a wooden rack on the wall nearby, its ribbon draped loosely from the sheath; a long session with the blades hadn’t cured Blake’s restlessness, nor was pummeling something that neither bled nor hit back.

“I do wonder who you have in mind when you beat that thing.”

The voice came from behind, low and familiar, but Blake didn’t hesitate, kneeing the dummy directly in the groin before turning around. Adam was dressed to impress, his suit dyed a red so dark it was nearly black under the florescent light of the gym, tie bar and cufflinks forged from old silver. His mask was already in place, turning his expressive eyes to dark slits. He only wore it for two reasons; to intimidate strangers or to speak with the only Faunus in the world who could give them both orders. From the state of his clothes, Blake guessed that it was the latter.

“No one in particular.” Blake answered, wiping away some sweat. “That would assume I have a habit of leaving people I hate alive.”

“A fair point.” Adam’s mouth quirked into a smile. “You have work tonight.”

One dark brow was raised. “Do I?”

“We’ve made contact with a woman who says she has information on the Schnee heiress. Apparently she was her private tutor for some time.” He let out a soft sigh. “I still think the girl is worth some leverage.”

Blake couldn’t disagree more, considering said girl — Weiss or somewhat — was only trotted out for the most decorative, self-congratulatory functions the Dust conglomerate had to offer. Schnee Sr. treated everyone, be they Faunus or human, like a pawn and there was little doubt that his daughter was any exception. Anyone could be sacrificed save the king; he had thrown his own brother to the wolves after all, and still managed to summon a few tears when reporters spoke to him at the funeral.

“What does this have to do with me?” Blake asked.

“I was going to have dinner with her tonight, but I’ve been called upstairs.” He shrugged. “That leaves you.”

Mouth twisting into a frown, Blake stifled the initial impulse to tell Adam to shove his chokutō somewhere unpleasant, preferably where no one would have the misfortune of seeing, but the ire didn’t fade even after a moment’s contemplation. He was the face of the White Fang’s public dealings, handling informants, clients, and those who were bound to the family’s service; Blake was his shadow, carrying out the theft, sabotage, and wetworks that ensured his words held weight. Their days of setting stores ablaze together were long past, yet Adam had picked up a habit of passing on his work when it suited him personally, albeit to lieutenants who didn’t dare refuse.

“Send someone else.” Blake growled. “Isn’t that what your underlings are for?”

Even behind the slits in his mask, Adam narrowing his eyes was always obvious. It read in his entire face, the tension that ricocheted up both cheekbones. “Sending someone of lower rank is an insult and I want to know what this human has with her. I won’t have information withheld because I assigned some bull with two hairs on his chest to make the exchange.”

“Then give me the Lien and I’ll pay her.” Blake said through grit teeth. “What does dinner have to do with it?”

Adam crossed his arms, breaking the clean lines of his coat. “Because we want her beholden to us, Blake. If she just gets a briefcase full of money, maybe next time she knows something important, she’ll look for a higher bidder. But if her information is good, I want her seduced, coming back to our doorstep without even needing a call.”

“Seduced?” Blake scoffed. “Three days in our basement and she would sell out her own mother. It’s a lot more efficient that way.”

“Reservations are at the Blackjack.” Adam raised one wrist, examining his diamond-studded watch. “In two hours. Take a shower and wear something nice. If I find out you threw her in the trunk instead of playing ball, you’re liable to have another stripe cut out of your hide.”

Amber eyes narrowed at the threat, resisting the urge to scratch at the old scar curving around one side. “What’s this human’s name?”

“Cinder Fall. You’ll have our private booth, so order as much as you like.” Adam let out a hum of amusement. “It’s amazing how many people are impressed after a glass of wine with gold flakes in it.”

“That swill isn’t worth the bottle it’s put in.” Blake reached to take Gambol Shroud off the wall, taking comfort in its weight, the familiar tension of the ribbon. “I’ll handle it.”

“I knew I could count on you, Blake.” Adam turned on one heel, the leather of his double monkstrap shoes surely polished by someone else’s hand. “The money’s in the usual car. I’m sure you remember how to negotiate.”  

Twenty minutes with the shower on full blast scoured off the sweat of the day, a golden ribbon wrangling black locks into a single braid as soon as they were dry. Blake turned to face the bathroom mirror, wiping away the steam from its surface. The look would do; whoever this human happened to be, she wasn’t worth any sort of intricate style. Adam was lucky any effort was being put into this farce at all. Blake muttered a curse and threw the used towels back onto their rack, forsaking the idea of a robe before exiting. If anyone was in the hall between the public washroom and private officers’ quarters, they could deal with the view.

Blake yanked both doors to the closet open, frowning at the selection. There was a three-piece suit for funerals, a handful of others for formal meetings, but there was nothing appealing about the restraint of a tie tonight. The Blackjack had a dress code, but any member of the White Fang could walk in wearing a tank top and still expect service. After folding a set of dark slacks over one arm, Blake eyed a slate grey button-down and took that as well; the silk was fine enough to pass Adam’s inspection, if he couldn’t keep his nose out of things.

The top two buttons of the shirt were left open to show the edges of the roses etched below Blake’s collarbones; the newest petal had just been inked, finishing the intricate flower on the left. It would be time to start the third in the center, soon enough. There was only one other member of the family who had more deaths to their name — the Knight of Roses who had burned down the monument to the Faunus War peace treaty, taking more than a hundred lives in the conflagration. Blake had seen his tattoos once, the veritable garden of flowers from waist to throat, and that was before he accepted the mask of leadership, surrendering both identity and history to the cause of the White Fang.

“Such a rose is to be buckled and dethroned.” Blake said softly, recalling the words by heart. “Their bodies shall burn, yours shall remain.”

To think that half of winning this war was bribing humans throughout Vale. Blake let out a huff of disgust before donning a watch to match and stepping into a pair of dress shoes. The leather concealed a rounded steel cap, hard enough to shatter bone with a proper kick, which was useful for the locales that demanded Gambol Shroud was sheathed at the door. Cleaning out the blood was troublesome, but that could be said about nearly anything. Practice had made perfect.

An hour and change was left before the reservation, but the drive was a solid thirty minutes into the heart of downtown. For all the advantages the private compound had — proper security, first and foremost — it was rather out of the way. Blake went to the bedside table and opened the top drawer, ignoring the spare knife and bottle of single malt to find a set of keys. The ring was hefty, able to unlock half a dozen vehicles, a safe, and at least three spare apartments. Blake pried off the key to the silver sports car and pocketed it, dropping the rest back into the drawer and bumping it closed with one knee.

Adam’s car, a black model that looked more like a sculpture than anything worth driving, was already gone by the time Blake reached the parking lot, a fact the Faunus noted with a frown. Glancing in the trunk confirmed the Lien was there, locked behind a combination in a reinforced steel case. Half the money was removed and set in the false bottom of the trunk; whatever deal Adam had in mind, Blake didn’t trust any human not to renege, especially when anyone who paid attention knew how deep the White Fang’s pockets were.

After getting into the driver’s seat, Blake sat there for a long moment, listening to the calming white noise of the engine’s subtle hum. It was just another assignment, a few hours of lying and feigning smiles, more a science than an art. There wasn’t any reason for the sour knot of tension gathering between shoulder blades, the hollow feeling low in the Faunus’ gut. Toying with the Schnee family behind their backs was always a bit of a gamble, true, but Blake had crushed enough concealed bugs and broken enough kneecaps to know that the human patriarch did just as much to rattle his side of the arrangement. The first real threat towards his company’s reputation would be all it took for Schnee Sr. to sever their business dealings in one blow, and try to slit the White Fang’s throat in the same strike.

There was surprisingly little traffic for the hour, Blake noted, finally coasting to a halt in front of the restaurant. A valet came out from his perch with a flick of a blonde tail, making a bronze coin dance across his knuckles as he approached. He had the tan of someone who spent more time in the sun than the darker hours, but there weren’t many places besides the quarries where Faunus were hired — beggars couldn’t be choosers. Blake fished around in one pocket until feeling the crinkle of a roll of cash, counting it under the dim light of the street signs before peeling off a pair of bills. When the driver’s side window dropped, Blake held them both up, watching the valet’s eyes widen a little.

“What’s your name?” Blake asked.

“Sun. Er, Wukong.” He said, hesitating for a split second before taking the money by its edge. “You’re—”

“Your boss told you.” Blake interrupted; it was hard to know who was listening and where. “Good. Do me a favor and park this somewhere you can see it at all times.”

After receiving a nod, Blake killed the engine and handed Sun the keys, withholding a faint smile when he stepped out of the way. There was always a chance he might get curious and go rifling through the compartments for some spare change, but the car was pristine. A few loose cupholders Blake would easily forgive, as long as the trunk went untouched. He didn’t look foolish enough to run off with a case he didn’t know the combination for; Velvet had become fairly selective with her hiring practices, after the first time.

The Blackjack was one of Vale’s premiere steakhouses, having experienced unprecedented success after opening a few years before, thanks to some selective investments. Businesses run by Faunus tended to be wrought with licensing problems and constant inspections, essentially giving the police free reign to shut them down, but the Scarlatina bloodline hadn’t survived for so long by turning tail at the first side of trouble. They weren’t allied with the White Fang so much as quietly associated, although Blake had an idle fondness for Velvet. The rabbit-eared woman was quiet but skilled, with a surprising amount of steel hidden underneath the surface.

Strains of a violin reached Blake’s ears as soon as the door slid open, the end of something slow and solemn. Not the usual sort of music to accompany dinner, but the restaurant had a fairly sedate atmosphere, the patrons kept quiet by the invisible bounds of propriety rather than an official rule. The hostess offered a practiced smile, eyes immediately flickering down to the bared tattoos and back up again. Blake didn’t recognize her, the pointed ears atop russet hair suggesting fox-blood, but it was clear that wasn’t mutual; even as Adam’s shadow, Blake’s reputation had its own weight, rumors painting a particular picture.

“Good evening.” A nervous swallow caught in a pale throat; the girl was slightly too young to have grown into her height. “There’s free space at the bar if you’re not ready for your booth.”

Blake’s lips pursed. The offer was hard to refuse, but getting three cups deep before Cinder arrived could put a damper on things. “Maybe another time. I’d like to sit and look over the menu for now.”

“Of course.” The hostess turned after a bow of her head, leading the way to the booth.

It was back in the farthest corner along the wall shared with the kitchen; convenient when one needed to make a hasty exit out through the back. The dark wood of the table was softened by the plush leather seats that surrounded it, allowing for a comfortable lapse in posture if a patron happened to have too much to drink. Blake sat down and took the menu that was extended, summoning a small smile in return as a dismissal. Relief poured down the hostess’ face a second before her face went out of view, but Blake watched as she slipped into the kitchen, presumably to warn Velvet.

The woman in question appeared a few minutes later, flushed from the heat of the stoves in the back, smelling of burnt cedar and a hint of blood. Even as the restaurant’s manager, Velvet stayed very involved in the cooking, made clear when Blake saw her mutter and wrap a napkin around one finger as she approached the table, red slowly blossoming through the cloth. There was a nick in one furred ear that hadn’t been there the last time, although Blake couldn’t recall how long had passed since they last saw one another. Days were starting to blur together, everything becoming rote.

“Fighting a particularly angry cow, Ms. Scarlatina?” Blake gestured to the napkin.

“And an angrier sous chef who doesn’t like the new cookware.” Velvet let out a sigh. “Ego is what’s got the real bite, you know?”

“I’m familiar.” Blake said wryly.

“I thought Adam was the one coming tonight.” Velvet unwrapped the napkin, her Aura having finally sealed the cut. “Is there something going on that I need to know about?”

“He overscheduled.” Setting the menu aside, Blake fought the urge to let displeasure show at the whole arrangement. Velvet didn’t need to be burdened by internal politics. “It’s just a business dinner.”

“Water or whiskey then?” Velvet asked.

The latter was tempting; a bit too tempting. “Water’s fine. I got here early.”

Velvet nodded. “I’ll have it brought out. Hannah’s your server. Just wave if she’s not paying any attention, mm?”

With that said, she turned away, clipped pace carrying her back into the chaos of the kitchen. Blake’s attention returned to the menu, looking to see if anything particular stood out. Velvet rotated the dishes regularly, experimenting with this or that, but Blake had a habit of ordering the same thing every time, which was tolerated with a few accented comments about expanding one’s horizons. Adam always tried something new, complimenting all the subtle details, using prettier words for the snap of bone and sinew, the way blood dripped across the plate like an artistic afterthought.

The cup that was brought was heavy with ice, cold water soothing as Blake’s attention turned to the other patrons of the restaurant. At least one pair was on a date, hands continuously knocking into one another’s as they tried to share dessert, chocolate and honey sticking haphazardly to their forks. Most of the others sat by themselves or were simply indulging in drinks with a companion, scrolls brought out on occasion to check messages. Strangely, nearly all of them were human; Velvet didn’t discriminate in any regard save for the capacity to pay one’s bill, but Blake had to wonder what the appeal of a Faunus-run restaurant was to them.

In the haste to leave, Blake hadn’t asked what Cinder looked like — an admitted oversight — but a gut feeling made it easy to guess when a dark-haired woman entered the restaurant, her eyes the color of raw, molten gold. There was a man with her, younger by at least a decade, his cropped red hair tucked beneath a dark hat, but as soon as she gave a wave of her hand, he vanished back outside. The hostess caught on right away, glancing back towards the booth, and Blake gave a deliberate nod of confirmation. Some words were exchanged between her and the human, too quiet to hear over the violin and scrape of silverware, but Blake met that bright stare as it cast across the room, watching the sparks of suspicion flare.

Cinder’s dress was layers of burgundy velvet, the crushed lines of her skirt ending on an asymmetrical edge to draw the eye as she walked, unperturbed by the risk of matching heels high enough to trip up someone with lesser balance, chancing a broken ankle — or neck. Flowers made of the same dark material were woven into the dress at shoulder and hip, their metallic filaments cast to match their bearer’s eyes, the gold manicured lines that sliced through darkly painted nails. Blake chose to feign utter disinterest until said nails were tapping the mahogany of the table, clicking against the wood in unison. Clearly the human wasn’t afraid to attract attention, which had as many perks as it did problems.

“Ms. Fall, I presume?” Blake asked, not bothering to offer a hand in greeting.

“You’re not who I spoke with earlier.” Cinder’s head canted a few centimeters to the left. “Although I know I’ve seen your face somewhere.”

“Adam was called to another engagement. He and I carry the same authority.” Blake said, gesturing to the opposing seat. “Nothing’s changed.”

“So you say.” Cinder mused, but moved to sit none the less, modestly arranging her skirt once she was settled. Up close, Blake could see the strands of silver piercing through that black hair, the faintest lines near mouth and brow. It didn’t seem like the human made any attempt to hide the signs of her age, but it was left to the observer to discern the truth behind sharp cheekbones and painted lips. “You have me at a disadvantage, after all. I don’t even know your name.”

Blake held that warm gaze — almost like a Faunus, humans rarely had eyes that color — and looked for any hint of deception. Cinder likely had a guess, but didn’t want to offer insult by being wrong. Lying was better saved for hiding more important things, once a thread of trust was established. “Blake. Do you prefer to be called Cinder?”

“I do. Honorifics are for those in my employ.” Cinder’s smile was practiced and tight, showing just a flash of teeth. “And I suppose you’ve piqued my curiosity enough for me to stay.”

“Would you like something to drink?” Blake asked. “The bar here is very extensive.”

“With dinner, perhaps. Water will do for now.” Cinder said.

Hannah was quick on the uptake, appearing with a fresh glass and topping off Blake’s own, keeping it packed with ice. Cinder’s first sip was slow, as if waiting for a tell, some adverse taste to warn of poison, but Blake simply watched in quiet amusement. Whoever this human was, she was accustomed to people attempting to stab her in the back. Strange, then, that the White Fang wasn’t already familiar with her name. Blake made a mental note to look into it later, in case there was something they missed.

To break the silence, Blake unfolded the menu and pushed it across the table. “Order whatever you like. We can talk business while it’s cooking.”

“As long as said business doesn’t sour the stomach.” Cinder remarked, that absent smile appearing once more. “You’ve already decided?”

Blake’s shoulders rose in a subtle shrug. “I always get the same thing. Velvet’s likely to stick something new in for spite at this point.”

“Do you own this restaurant, then?” Titian nails brushed across the raised black ink of the menu, idly circling the wine choices. “Or just the people in it?”

“I don’t own anyone.” Blake raised a brow. “That’s a human affectation.”

Cinder’s laugh was closer to a purr, a pleased rumble. “I suppose I should have expected that. I meant no offense, Blake.”

“None taken.”

“What is it that you’re getting?” Cinder asked, folding the menu shut. “I seem to have trouble making a decision.”

Now there was an opportunity Adam wouldn’t let slip free. Blake took a long sip of water, readying the lie. “The house special. Your kind doesn’t tend to enjoy it, though.”

Scarlet lips formed a perfect, curious shape. “Oh?”

“It’s very rich.” That much wasn’t false, at least. “Heavier on the meat than most are fond of.”

Blake watched Cinder’s eyes alight again, the bait taken with grace. “Your sort likes to dangle lures and see if we’ll bite, but I admit, I’m interested enough to risk offending the chef if I don’t happen to finish the meal.”

“My sort?” Blake’s mouth quirked. “Meaning Faunus or the White Fang?”

“Meaning big cats used to smaller prey.” Before Blake could counter, Cinder had drawn Hannah back over to the table, extending the menu so it could be taken away. “We’ve decided on two house specials for the evening.”

The waitress failed to stifle her immediate surprise, but managed to recover with a look in Blake’s direction. “For you both?”

“As she said.” Blake replied, nonchalant.

“And a glass of wine, I think.” Cinder added after a moment, waiting for Hannah to meet her eyes. “You know the proper vintage to go with the meal, I imagine.”

Hannah’s pen swept over the pad of paper in quick strokes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll stick with water, thank you.” Blake said.

Once Hannah was out of earshot, Cinder’s bemusement remained. “Shall we, then?”

Blake laced both hands together, back straightening despite the soft give of the leather from behind. “Adam said you were a tutor in the Schnee household. What exactly did you teach?”

“History, primarily. How Dust was turned from the magic powders and crystals that terrified our ancestors into the source of our weapons and energy. Mr. Schnee was very intent on his daughter understanding what kind of power she’s poised to inherit.”

“I wasn’t expecting a scholar.” Blake admitted, giving a long look from head to toe. Cinder didn’t blush or hesitate under the inspection. “Although I’m not sure how your private lessons are of interest to our dealings.”

A flicker of irritation then, tension flaring between Cinder’s dark brows. “As I told Adam, I have scroll recordings. Very extensive ones with her and others all around the house.”

“Adam believes the Schnee girl is worth more than another funeral with accompanying crocodile tears, Cinder. I don’t.” Blake leaned forward slightly, hands resting down against the table. “So convince me.”

“You are who I thought you were, aren’t you?” Cinder leaned forward in turn, voice fading down to a whisper. “Is Belladonna actually your surname or is that just to intimidate the faceless masses?”

“I don’t use poison. Seems like it would be a waste of a name if I had chosen it.” Blake drained away the rest of the water from the glass, setting it aside with a faint click of ice. “What’s on these recordings, then? I can’t imagine how much a fifteen year old girl would have to say to the teacher foisted on her by her father.”

“As much as any maiden when desire has them by the throat.” Cinder said.

Blake’s mouth curled in disgust. “You seduced her?”

Cinder shook her head. “Nothing so untoward. She yearned and I refused, but that sort of need still makes for an eager tongue. When she spoke about anything relating to her family or the business, I kept records. At the time, they seemed like a proper insurance policy, if her father was to fire me without cause.”

“And now?” Blake asked.

“Now I have other avenues to invest in. I parted amicably with the Schnees, but some of my current interests require capital, and I much prefer opening a new relationship to blackmailing my old employer.” Cinder let out a soft hum of amusement. “Even if the results are essentially the same.”

Blake’s reply was interrupted by the arrival of their appetizer. Hannah carried in both bowls on a single tray, one hand warded against their heat with a cloth guard as she set them down onto the table. Cinder’s wine, a warm red smelling faintly of spice, was placed to accompany it as the human took in the dish with surprise, soon tempered by a dark satisfaction Blake hadn’t been expecting to see.

“Is this what I think it is?” Slender fingers wrapped around the wine glass, a slow breath drawn in to savor the scent.

“ _Emberi_. They sing while they fly through Forever Fall.” Blake picked up the single feather set beside the tiny bird bathed in brandy, cradled in a nest made of honeycomb tripe and a pair of egg-shaped sweetbreads. Even in the accented light of the restaurant, it was possible to see through the scarlet vane when the Faunus’ fingers turned it. “When their wings are spread, it’s supposed to look like stained glass in the sunlight.”

“How strange. I thought it was illegal to hunt in Forever Fall.” Cinder said, following the comment with an indulgent swallow.

“That’s why the special isn’t described on the menu.” Blake let the feather drop back into the bowl. “That and the fact that they feed the birds figs until they choke on them. I imagine that could cause upset in a certain crowd.”

“Is this where I make a comment about cruelty to animals, or would that be too much?” Cinder asked.

“You’ve already called me a cat to my face.” Blake picked up the bird by one fragile leg, waiting for Cinder to do the same. “That’s more than most get away with.”

“I wasn’t insinuating you were a housepet, by any means.” Cinder’s nails bit into crisp flesh to keep the morsel still. “A leopard, maybe. Something with a proper set of fangs.”

The  _emberi_  was meant to go on the back of the tongue, engulfed completely before it was eaten. Blake’s jaw tightened, teeth snapping through the bones, already hollow but roasted until they were utterly fragile, disintegrating at the first hard pressure. The meat was still piping hot, heavy with fat and spice, but Blake gulped it down before the burn became too unbearable. Cinder acted in concert, eyes half-lidded as the taste was considered, fingers politely wiped onto a napkin.

“What do you think?” Blake took a fork in hand, spearing one of the sweetbreads before taking a bite. It burst almost like a berry, seared all the way through but still tender.

“Memorable.” Cinder took another long sip of wine. “Was I supposed to take note of its fate?”

“Adam might play games like that, but I don’t.” The other sweetbread was quickly eaten, Blake setting the fork down with the soft ting of silver against wood. “I assume you have these recordings nearby.”

That earned a cautious nod. “Close enough to access if we agree on a payment, yes.”

“Fifty thousand upon receiving the recordings, the other fifty when they’re confirmed to be of any value.” Blake said.

Cinder’s gaze immediately hardened, and Blake could swear that a wave of heat had just poured off the woman’s body. The warning sign of a fire-based Semblance, perhaps. “I bargained for a hundred thousand without exception. Perhaps you should speak to Adam.”

“I don’t answer to Adam.” Blake couldn’t help but smile; there were few sweeter truths. “And the person I do answer to wouldn’t spare a human a second glance unless she was the second coming of Summer Rose.”

The glower in Cinder’s gaze intensified, orange melting into yellow like iron in a forge. “You could decide their value on a whim and deprive me of payment.”

“Sixty percent, then, with an extra twenty thousand on top after confirmation. Adam will do the drop personally tomorrow night.” Two could easily play at the game of being inconvenienced, Blake thought. He had made this bargain and would bear at least some of the responsibility.

“And what reason to I have to trust you, Blake?” Cinder asked. “You seem content to pull at my strings without offering anything in turn.”

“I have the money you want.” Blake’s head tilted slightly. “You could go elsewhere if you choose, but that closes as many doors as it opens. The White Fang has a long memory.”

“Cornered in my own maze, is it?” There was a soft hiss of displeasure. “I had wanted to establish a working relationship with your organization, but this makes it rather difficult.”

“Trust is a fickle thing, Cinder.” Blake saw Hannah was approaching with their entree and uttered the next words in a whisper. “Would you let me strip you down to ensure there’s nothing recording  _this_  conversation right now?”

Dark lips parted then pressed tightly together as their bowls were exchanged for a pair of plates a piece. The smaller of the two held a crock of fattened liver, soaking in its own juices and surrounded by thick slices of onion and fig, while the other was heavy with a lamb’s heart, raw enough to still show some red, set with lentils and lardon. While Hannah leaned over to refill Cinder’s wineglass, it was clear she sensed the tension boiling from across the table and disappeared back into the kitchen without saying a word.

“Surely that wouldn’t be your only motive to strip me.” Blake openly scoffed at the comment, but Cinder’s face glowed with amusement instead of upset. “Are you exclusive to Faunus, then?”

Blake picked up the heavier knife meant for the lamb, making the first cut through the center and the next to split the heart into its chambers, a few sluggish coils of steam rising out of the center. Cinder didn’t react at the subtle drip of blood trickling from the meat; in fact, it seemed to only entertain the woman even more. There could be a hundred motives beyond the change in topic, first and foremost a distraction, but Blake knew all the telltale signs of lust. Some could be faked, lowered lids or blown pupils, even a faint flush around the cheeks, but others — a pointed inhale was all that was needed to confirm — were more difficult to feign.

“Against my better judgment, no, I’m not exclusive.” Blake said.

The slender tendons of the heart parted under the knife like they weren’t even there, clear and taut. It was just like Adam had done when he was served this, a slow dissection within the confines of the plate. Mimicry was one of Blake’s strengths, making each slice smooth and practiced. Velvet would be muttering comments for weeks, to be sure, wondering why the fish Blake always ordered — in a steakhouse, no less — had been abandoned for something so decadent, not to mention the cruelty inherent in capturing the  _emberi_. Cinder hadn’t challenged the bluff, but the woman’s expression didn’t sour either, even when Blake took the first bite. The rigid muscle had been cooked perfectly, simmered until it was tender and yet raw enough to bleed.

“The thought of leaving empty-handed doesn’t sit well with me.” Cinder’s fork pierced through the liver, impaling a fig on two of the tines. “I could find myself followed home, see my life upturned until the recordings are discovered and taken. I would much prefer we were mutually satisfied before parting, Blake.”

“You aren’t foolish enough to have kept those in your house.” Blake raised a brow. “I could follow you and take the Lien back too, if that’s the line of thinking.”

“The money’s meaningless to you. It would be petty for you to waste your time for a hundred thousand Lien.” Cinder said.

“Fifty thousand.” Blake countered.

“Sixty, if I take your bargain.” Cinder’s gaze fell to Blake’s plate, the knife halfway through the smallest chamber of the heart. “Would you allow me a taste?”

The Faunus frowned. “You have your own.”

“And yet none of a butcher’s skill.” Cinder leaned forward enough that black locks tumbled over velvet-bound shoulders. “I’ve heard an improper cut can ruin the meat.”

Every word was bait, bright and colorful, but Blake had to admit the briefest flicker of interest. A smaller piece was sliced away, caught on the very tip of the knife. Blake offered it blade-first, the angle sharp enough to pierce the roof of Cinder’s mouth if the morsel was taken too quickly. Yet the bite came without hesitation, capturing the heart without leaving even a hint of lipstick on the knife. Seeing steel slide free, untouched, made Blake’s fingers tighten imperceptibly around the handle.

Cinder swallowed delicately. “It melts on the tongue.”

“You trust me to put a blade in your mouth but not to honor a deal?” Blake asked, eyes narrowing.

“I wagered that your desire to see what I would do outweighed the urge to widen my smile.” A low laugh spilled from Cinder’s lips, dark and rich as wine. “That’s far from trust.”

The knife was deliberately set aside. “And why the sudden concern for my desires?”

“Curiosity, first and foremost.” Faint lines of consideration tensed along Cinder’s brow. “Is that not enough of a sin in and of itself?”

“I don’t like being toyed with.” Blake’s tone lowered, edging on a growl.

“Neither do I.” Cinder only needed to spare a second’s glance at the knife to see her point made. “But I am happy to drink the bitter with the sweet if it means some of my needs are met.”

Blake hesitated. Sex as an officer of the White Fang inevitably involved a transaction — whether the offer to someone else was money or safety — seeing as consorting among themselves was asking to be spied upon or stabbed in the back. There was always a hierarchy to mind and other Faunus, those not branded with loyalty to the family, often submitted out of fear instead of desire rather than risk the consequences of refusal. Blake avoided participating in that violent cycle, but as a result, the only options were in pure anonymity or with humans too ignorant to ask questions about the tattoos.

“Would you have made Adam the same offer?” Blake asked.

“I have to be driven to mix business and pleasure.” Cinder considered the question for a moment longer. “So perhaps, if he charmed me, but it wasn’t my original intent.”

It was a careful answer, enough to leave pride intact. “Are you agreeing to the deal, then?”

“I am.” Cinder said after a second’s hesitation. “Are you considering mine?”

Blake shrugged. “I haven’t come to a decision yet.”

The rest of the meal passed in relative silence, although Blake noted that Cinder divided the heart on her plate with the delicacy of a surgeon, parting chamber from chamber. After the second glass of wine, Cinder refused an offer for more, taking water in its place to ease the salt of blood from her mouth. There were no wry attempts to flirt or cajole, no teasing slide of burgundy heels underneath the table, yet Blake could still sense the flush of arousal, which was mildly disconcerting when paired with the heavy taste of the meat, the slightly bitter tang of the liver.

When it was all gone — Cinder’s appetite was less prodigious, several of the figs left to stew — Blake reached into one pocket, feeling until fingers caught on smooth leather. The meal was comped, part of Velvet’s deal with the White Fang, but it was hard to tell which bribes trickled down and which didn’t; the server and hostess deserved something for averting their eyes from business matters too. Blake left a few bills to split between them, hesitating before laying down another. Cinder was right about one thing, at least; the money meant nothing. It was a tool, yet others had to kill for it, would starve without it.

Blake frowned, dismissing the thought. “Was that man earlier your driver?”

“Roman?” Cinder raised a brow. “He served well enough, although it’s not actually his job.”

Standing up from the booth, Blake smoothed down the lines of grey silk, tugging absently at the collar of the shirt. “Send him back where he came from. We’re taking my car.”

“A rather roundabout yes.” Cinder mused, but also moved to stand. “Should I trust you enough not to ask where we’re going?”

“That’s up to you.” Blake said coolly, watching as Cinder pulled out her scroll, a subtle tap opening the device. “I don’t really care how Adam finishes the deal, as long as he does it tomorrow.”

The scroll snapped shut after a few swipes across the screen, Cinder’s nails clicking harshly against the glass. “I suppose expecting a bit of romance from a murderer was a bit naive.”

A purposeful baring of teeth matched Blake’s low growl. “You don’t want romance.”

“No, but I do like the look in your eyes when I call you a killer.” Something in Cinder’s eyes flared, growing bright. “Lead the way.”

Anger twisted like a serpent in Blake’s gut, but if Cinder was so intent on being provocative, she could bear the cost of seeing it vented. The hostess scurried out of their way when Blake approached the door, ears pinned down against her head. As soon as they exited, the air rolling in from the docks struck every bare inch of skin like a cold slap, the seafoam nearly thick enough to taste oil and brine. Blake suppressed a shiver, a quick sweep of amber eyes penetrating the darkness of the surrounding lot. Cinder’s man — Roman — wasn’t in view, hiding in the span of trees or shadows of the alley across the way; the night couldn’t hide him, anyway, but humans were prone to forgetting.

Sun appeared seconds later, key clutched in one fist as his tail swayed. “Do you want me to drive it up here for you? It’s right there.”

Blake’s gaze followed the line of his arm. Tucked in a space besides a copse of trees, the car was discreetly hidden from the street but barely a block away. “No. Don’t spend that Lien in one place.”

“I’ll try not to.” He handed over the key with a grin before turning to walk back to his perch.

“You would have the sports car.” Cinder noted as Blake unlocked the doors, the vehicle emitting a soft chirp. “Which is out of the question, by the way.”  
  
“Excuse me?” Blake asked, climbing into the driver’s side and starting the engine. Neither of them bothered with a seatbelt.

“I do expect a bed.” Cinder let out a soft laugh. “No matter what your standard is for human conquests.”

“Here, I was going to drag you back to my Faunus lair and ravish you like a beast.” Turning the steering wheel as far as it could go, Blake whipped out of the parking space and shot down the street. “I’ve lined it with Grimm bones for the winter. It’s very nice.”

White teeth flashed in Cinder’s mouth, like a sliver of moonlight. “I suppose I could make an exception if you make it worth my while.”

Blake’s attention returned to the road, mentally constructing a map. There were only a handful of hotels that admitted Faunus without question, and less that wouldn’t make note of one with money. “Anything I need to know about, then? Like a heart condition or a safeword or something.”

“If I say no, I’ve made myself clear.” There was the click of a cap, a quick glance aside confirming Cinder was touching up her lipstick. “And if you’re good enough to make my heart give out, it would be worth it. Alas, the funeral expenses will be your responsibility.”

“No will?” Blake asked.

“No living relatives.” The lipstick was closed, stowed somewhere out of view. “Sisters, once.”

Blake’s eyes caught on a holographic sign at the far end of the street. The King’s Ransom; it would do. “I’ve never had the pleasure.”

“They taught me a great deal.” Cinder said, leaning back further in the seat. “About cruelty, mostly.”

The parking lot was empty; it was a strange hour on an off day, without any coming holidays for weeks. Blake cut the engine after pulling into the space closest to the door, noting the price projected across the glass — two hundred Lien a night. Certainly not Bella Venezia, but it was better than most of the dockside hostels that welcomed Faunus with one open hand and a blade in the other. The White Fang had collected too many debts from those tinderboxes, taken down the names of the human owners that skittered like a cockroach from light at the sight of someone they couldn’t intimidate.

“That’s family for you.” Blake finally answered, pushing the driver’s side door open.

Cinder’s heels struck the floor of the lobby with the precise rhythm of a metronome, the sedate taps drawing the attention of the man behind the counter. His tie was designer and a step too expensive for the establishment; a gift from a rich lover, perhaps, or he took money under the table and couldn’t help but flaunt it. Blake dropped three hundred Lien next to the brass bell by his terminal, the bills crisp as if they had been newly printed. Perhaps they had been; there were a few members of the White Fang with a gift for forgery, although it didn’t seem likely Adam would dispense out anything false for daily expenses.

“I need a room on the first floor.” Blake said.

“We have package deals with—” The concierge began.

“It’s just for the night.”

He handed over a key with a black crown in the center. “End of the hall. Room four.”

Smart enough not to ask for a name, although Blake was curious as to what he put as a stand-in for the guest information; not that it truly mattered. The polished tile of the lobby gave way to a clean, tan carpet, with enough give to silence all but the heaviest of footsteps. Blake’s fingers toyed idly with the key, tracing its edges, the silver stripe on the back.

“Why the first floor?” Cinder asked.

“Because if you’re planning to have your lackey burst in and try and fill me full of holes, I hate jumping from second story windows.” Blake said, stopping in front of the last door on the right. “And yes, I always land on my feet.”

“You take half the fun out of teasing, truly.” Cinder mused. “You’re far too young to be so bitter.”

Blake dismissed both comments with a sneer, swiping the key through the lock. The door hissed as it slid open; it only took a few seconds to memorize the size of the window, the position of the bed, the red comforter folded down to reveal spotless white sheets. Three steps past the threshold, Blake heard the door close and turned, dropping the key before both hands seized Cinder’s shoulders and full, painted lips were claimed in a kiss. The angle was harsh, burgundy-clad hips hitting the door with a thud; even in heels, Cinder was nearly a head shorter, but that slender throat tilted up willingly, just in time for Blake’s fingers to wrap around warm flesh and squeeze.

Polished teeth bit down into Blake’s lip, drawing blood to the surface, paired with a low throb of pain. Cinder’s pulse was steady against Blake’s calloused palm, never skipping a beat even lacquered nails sliced through the back of the Faunus’ hand, holding the pressure until there was a snarl of protest, grip going slack. Both hands were urged lower — the human was  _strong_ , stronger than she should have been — until Blake was cupping the curve of Cinder’s ass, bringing their bodies together and roughly kneading before starting to trying to hike the dress upward.

“Eager, are you?” Cinder purred.

A flare of Aura closed the gouge left by Cinder’s nails, Blake’s lip sealing but still wet with blood, the congealing drops licked away by a warm pass of the human’s tongue. Letting out a growl in response to the question, Blake sought beneath the hem of the dress, trailing up the outside of stocking-clad thighs until catching on the smooth straps of a garter belt. The guttural sound rumbling through Blake’s chest became a low hum of amusement, golden eyes meeting the fire plaintively burning in Cinder’s gaze.

“You wore these to a business dinner?” Fingertips traced the skin bared near one of the straps, pulling the elastic taut before allowing it to snap back into place. “Were you going to ride Roman if Adam didn’t give you what you wanted?”

Blake’s jaw tensed just in time to bear the brunt of the slap, Cinder’s hand sliding back into pitch black hair and ignoring the tight binding of the ribbon, palm still warm from the impact. The blow had been expected, the spike of heat barely enough to register as pain; it had been a warning, a teasing rebuke. It was countered with another kiss, Blake’s hips pinning Cinder’s back against the door as their mouths met in a fervor, teeth snapping against air after the Faunus tried to catch that clever human tongue.

“Ah, leave those.” Cinder murmured when Blake’s fingers went to the clips of the garters. “Take the dress instead.”

“You have a particular way of doing this?” The Faunus groused, but took the opportunity to grind forward again, hands smoothing up the tight sheath of velvet to find the zipper laid over Cinder’s spine.

“You’ll get what you want.” There was a rough tug and Blake’s ribbon was pulled free, the braid unwinding into wilder curls. “Petulance isn’t very becoming.”

The dress parted in one smooth motion, Cinder’s arms lowering just long enough to work free of the sleeves. “I don’t take orders from humans.”

“Don’t worry, sweet,” Cinder let out a sigh as she twisted her hips, thighs pressing together to work the dress down that last crucial inch before it fell to the floor, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Blake’s brow knit, not at the sight of full breasts cupped by red lace or the matching panties that could be stripped away with a single pull, despite their inherent allure. Runes — there wasn’t really any other word for the spirals and accents, written like the dead pre-War tongues — were inscribed in curves below Cinder’s collarbone, flaring outward down both arms and halting at the wrists. They were too intricate, the edges too clean to be scars, but they were a mere shade lighter than the human’s skin, more like a birthmark than a tattoo, if such ink could even be made.

“What are those for?” Blake asked.

Cinder smiled and captured both of the Faunus’ wrists, drawing Blake’s fingers against the runes. They were warm to the touch, noticeably hotter than the flesh surrounding them. “Nothing that concerns you unless you try and slit my throat. Now, behave.”

Blake snarled at that, but the protest was ignored as Cinder’s attention shifted to the Faunus’ shirt, untucking it with a yank and undoing the buttons in quick succession. Nails rasped over silk, pushing it down past sculpted shoulders and tensed forearms, the taut muscle distorting black ink that formed the shield of a family crest, the creeping lines of a spider’s web. Blake drew in a quick huff of breath when the shirt fell and Cinder scored five red lines in the gap between the roses, drawing downward until snagging on the stiff fabric binding the Faunus’ chest, earning a curious look.

“Leave it.” Blake’s hand slid over Cinder’s, grasping tight. “That’s not up for discussion.”

“As you say.” When those slender fingers withdrew, Blake relaxed, only to shiver when Cinder skipped over the binder completely, caressing the flexed core of muscle underneath, halting just shy of the Faunus’ belt. “Although now I’m not sure whether to call you beautiful or handsome.”

Blake’s laugh was low; of course Cinder’s compliments would feel like the tip of a knife about to break the skin. “Neither. My name fits just as well in your mouth.”

“Arrogant cub.” The insult didn’t make it to Cinder’s eyes; amusement glittered there instead of irritation.

“You like it.” Blake said, leaning down for another kiss.

It was denied with a turn of Cinder’s head, although that didn’t stop a wicked smile. “And you should count that as a blessing.”

The words were accentuated with a solid shove. Blake could have resisted, stiffened against the push with all the stubbornness of a brick wall; a moving car had been crushed that way once, thanks to the dual application of Aura and adrenaline. Cinder, however, was easing them both towards the bed, and it seemed a bit senseless to fight that. Blake stopped against the edge of the mattress, knees refusing to bend quite yet. When the distance between them was closed again, Cinder went straight for the flat buckle of the belt, working it open before starting on Blake’s fly.

“Do I have to tell you to sit?” Cinder asked once the last button was open.

A retort was cut off by one of Cinder’s hands slipping past the confines of the trousers, cupping firmly against slick heat. Even with the barrier of underwear keeping the contact from going any farther than frustrating friction, Blake could feel the hard press of those nails, the promise of a particularly harsh rebuke. It provoked a shiver as Blake’s weight slowly dropped, the continued pressure of Cinder’s palm earning a groan and grit teeth by the time the Faunus was sitting on the bed, thighs splayed wide enough to allow her space between them. Seeing Cinder drop to her knees was a surprise, but the Faunus wagered it was better not to comment.

“That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Cinder said lightly, hand sliding free just enough to tug Blake’s trousers down and onto the floor. “Mm, what’s this?”

Blake’s eyes flickered away from straining cleavage, the faint flush of heat across Cinder’s chest, to where her fingers were drawing idle circles. The tattoo was new, the first of many planned to decorate the Faunus’ legs, now that both arms were covered from shoulder to wrist. A chain was anchored at the juncture of thigh and hip, looping around twice before ending over the curve of Blake’s knee, the final link broken in half. Within the iron illustrated through ink, there was the start of a vine, its flowers threatening to expand and burst through the chain. Nature overcoming imprisonment; the message wasn’t particularly difficult to read.

“It’s not finished yet.” Blake said.

“Nothing but black.” Cinder mused, tracing the length of the chain. “You would look lovely with some proper color.”

That was the only warning before Cinder’s head turned and teeth sank deep into the inside of Blake’s thigh. The Faunus tasted copper, praying that a bit tongue would calm the shout brewing deep within, but the pain built by leaps and bounds as Cinder’s jaw tightened, spiraling out into a haze of pleasure when that hot mouth roughly sucked, tongue soothing the deepest part of the marks left behind after a long, agonizing moment. One of the flowers engraved on Blake’s leg was left sticky and red — lipstick this time, not blood — but purple was swelling to the surface, filling in the petals as the worst of the ache began to fade.

“Fuck.” Blake drew in a shaking breath, pupils blown from the crux of a quickened pulse and shock; there wasn’t a Faunus alive who would dare to leave such a purposeful stain on a member of the White Fang, blood just shy of breaking free. It was an unspoken statement of dominance, possession.

“A shame it will disappear so quickly.” Cinder let out a sound of distaste, although it seemed to be directed more to the ruined state of her lipstick than anything else. “Lift your hips.”

Blake reacted without thinking, rising up just long enough for Cinder to tug the underwear away completely, unhooking it from both ankles and tossed aside. Tense with anticipation, Blake reached out to slide fingers into Cinder’s hair, wanting some sort of stable point, but a sharp glare made the Faunus hesitate. It was like looking at someone surrounded by gasoline and holding up a match, presenting a horrifying lure to anyone who dared too close. Nails pressed into Blake’s unmarked thigh and framed the artery there with a blunt ache.

“Keep your hands to yourself or I’ll stop.” Cinder warned.

There weren’t many other places to grip besides the sheets, but at least they could be held with impunity. Blake’s gut was caught in the roil between outrage and hunger, surging against each other like snapping hounds until Cinder shifted forward. Any attempt to keep silent out of spite was compromised the moment her tongue parted slick folds, each stroke slow and purposeful and matched with a smug hum of satisfaction that shot all the way up Blake’s spine. It hadn’t been that long — a couple of months or so, with that redheaded huntress from the gym — but every time Cinder’s mouth dared higher, allowing little more than a warm exhale against the Faunus’ clitoris, Blake was seized by a bone-deep tremble like it was the first time all over again.

The pace was deliberate, unrushed; no pleasure was given without a counterpoint, Cinder intent on leaving both of Blake’s thighs red and raw, the subtle prick of nails becoming a deeper scratch or harsh squeeze on a whim. Even without the claws grown by some, Blake could feel the smooth threads of the sheets begin to give, a sharp twist all that would be needed to shred them, betray the whiplash rush of ecstasy whenever Cinder’s tongue thrust inside as far as it could go, chin tilting up as if she was drinking wine from an offered chalice, always greedy for more. When their eyes met, a helpless groan, low and primal, spilled from the Faunus’ throat and there was no need to look to confirm Cinder was smiling victoriously.

Concern grew by the moment that the human simply wasn’t going to stop, content to toy and tease far from the edge of release, but finally one hand — the other left just below Blake’s hip, prepared to punish any transgression — abandoned rigid muscle and tattooed flesh to spread the Faunus open, making the next pass of Cinder’s tongue even more direct, circling just beneath the tight hood where Blake ached the most. The haze of pain only complicated matters, the instinct to recoil twisted back on itself when pushing forward meant more of that warm, waiting mouth, soothing every acid-sharp line of those nails to follow.

“Don’t hold back on my account, pet.” Each word was whispered, sweeter than honey, cloying like venom.

Blake had meant to protest, to snap that Cinder was being cruel for the sake of it, but when that bright gaze lowered, it was the prelude to drawing the Faunus’ clitoris between both lips and sucking, finding a give-and-take rhythm between that and quick, broad swipes of her tongue. Without pain to ground the sensations, Blake was shivering in an instant, hips bucking forward in a wordless plea. There was no further torment or last minute hesitation, only an orgasm that left Blake feeling blind and weightless until the need to breathe reasserted itself, the first ragged gasp tearing through the Faunus’ throat. Amber eyes blinked repeatedly, taking in the blurred colors of the room before focusing downward.

Cinder rose to standing with an almost unnatural grace, their gazes even by virtue of the bed’s height, mouth visibly wet. Blake’s hands, knuckles bone-white, aching from being locked in such a grip, eased away from the sheets and were immediately guided to a hem of red lace. The Faunus tugged the panties down without further prompting, the unmistakable scent of Cinder’s arousal intensifying and earning an eager growl. Somehow, Blake wasn’t surprised to be straddled, nor at the same hands that had offered nothing but torture slipping into the dark curls atop the Faunus’ head and pulling hard. They kissed until Cinder’s knees were settled against the bed, hips held just a few inches above Blake’s lap.

“Get your fingers inside me.” Cinder said, breath hitching for a split second.

The order was matched by a caress up the back of Blake’s velvet-lined ears, managing to short circuit the Faunus’ train of thought. One calloused hand slid between stocking-clad thighs, sensing unbelievable heat before making contact and thrusting two fingers past Cinder’s entrance. There was no resistance, but the pace Blake set only resulted in a sneer, displeasure made clear when the tip of one ear was roughly flicked.

That golden gaze mocked without a word, Cinder’s hips remaining stubbornly still. “Is that all you can give?”

It was a challenge, the hook bare and ready to be swallowed, but Blake didn’t hesitate to add a third finger, working up to a brutal rhythm. Every thrust was knuckle-deep, forceful enough that one of Cinder’s hands was forced to steady itself against the Faunus’ shoulder to keep her upright. Hard dismissal gave way to the sinuous movement of Cinder’s body, the sharp angle of her hips demanding more each time they descended. Blake’s head was wrenched back with a fierce tug, throat exposed to tongue and teeth, the latter leaving crimson-lined marks from jaw to shoulder as if driven to a frenzy.

The firm grip on Blake’s hair was surrendered as Cinder leaned forward, wayward strands of silver brushing over the Faunus’ temple, eyes locking as Cinder’s arm slid down between them. Their fingers met on an upward thrust, Blake’s thumb settling near the base of her clitoris the moment Cinder started to circle the sensitive bud, each stroke quick and merciless. It was impossible to turn away from that starved stare, projecting desire like a white-hot brand, their mouths never quite meeting in a kiss but exchanging desperate breaths as if they were each other’s only source of oxygen.

When Cinder finally clenched tight, there was no resounding moan or cry, only a deep sigh that announced satiety, at least for the time being. Her hips slowly came to a halt, eyes closing just long enough to break their commanding spell. The Faunus hadn’t even noticed Cinder’s nails drawing blood until that moment, a glance aside revealing a line of reddened half-moons marring the star tattooed over one shoulder for the fraction of a moment it took for Blake’s Aura to react and seal them shut. It was with some reluctance that slick fingers withdrew from Cinder’s clinging heat, although Blake’s ears stiffened at what sounded like a soft murmur of loss.

“Lien for your thoughts, sweet?” Cinder’s eyes were half-lidded, yet held all the threat from before.

Blake frowned, searching for a lie. “Just thinking about how easy it would be to get rid of you.”

“Oh?” That earned a smile sharper than any blade. “I admit, I’m curious exactly how many people you’ve killed.”

Even if she was somehow recording this conversation, it didn’t matter. The Shadow of the White Fang didn’t leave bodies behind to find, not even a piece for ransom or trophy’s sake. “Enough.”

“It feels like I should reevaluate my first observation. Perhaps you’re not a leopard.” Cinder captured one pointed ear again, stroking the soft fur along the back. “More of a jackal, it seems. Scavenging off the dead.”

The human was strong, slender limbs concealing a wiry fortitude Blake had been foolish enough to initially dismiss, but even without the element of surprise, the Faunus was nearly twice her size, which made shoving Cinder onto the bed take all the effort of throwing a toy. Blake was on top of her in an instant, hooking one leg as the opposite arm was pinned roughly against Cinder’s back, weight dropping like a stone to keep the human face-down and still. The Faunus’ free hand wrapped around that pale throat, feeling for Cinder’s pulse. The beat was faster now, fluttering like a hart’s in a trap.

“Is this the beast you wanted?” Blake growled.

“Something with proper fangs.” Cinder said, the words vibrating subtly against the Faunus’ palm. “Whether you have them remains to be seen.”

That made the Faunus hesitate, dampening the flare of rage. “It would take one move to snap your neck and you still want this?”

A soft sigh then, almost impatient. “Feel for yourself, if you like.”

Cinder’s arm was released, falling limp against the bed without any attempt to retaliate. Blake’s exploration wasn’t gentle, but that didn’t change the fact that the Faunus’ fingers came back dripping wet, even more so than when they had been ridden moments before. With a subtle push forward, Cinder’s folds parted effortlessly, three fingers accepted with a purposeful raise of her hips. A purr rose unbidden in Blake’s chest at the movement, the initial rhythm slow but deep, picking up speed at the sound of an encouraging moan.

The sound was cut off when the Faunus closed the hold around Cinder’s throat, counting out five well-spaced seconds before letting go. There was a ragged inhale, hips jerking to meet Blake’s hand, the thrust that followed twice as hard in response. It took ten seconds to bring unconsciousness, less with a struggle, but there was no fight despite the addition of a fourth finger, the pace offering as much punishment as reward. Blake could nearly taste the arousal leaving scarred knuckles slick, sublimating the urge to stop and drink straight from the source by sinking teeth into Cinder’s shoulder, relenting only to grasp hard again — _one, two, three, four, five_.

For each controlled hold, there was the nearly feral counterpoint of Blake’s thrusts, demanding more every time Cinder’s walls clenched in need, the pulses coming closer together between short, restricted breaths. Grinding forward was instinctive; if an animal was asked for, the Faunus would deliver in full, sweat rising from the harsh friction of their skin, drawing out a hunger that salt and blood wouldn’t sate so easily. There would be no salve until Cinder’s release, not from kindness or worship, but by daring near the abyss, the fragile moment where darkness rose only to be left yearning in its absence.

 _One_. This time Blake squeezed tight enough to bruise, nails scoring flesh.  _Two_. Cinder’s back arched, knees splayed wide and eager.  _Three_. Another bite wasn’t enough, not until her shoulders were decorated with half-circles of crimson, imprints of teeth that were sharper in nightmares.  _Four_. Fingers thrust and curved, relentless. _Five_. There was an attempt at breathing in, mercy presumed only to be utterly denied. _Six, seven, eight, nine—_

Blake let go completely, the hand between Cinder’s thighs withdrawing to shift flush against her clitoris, applying pressure until there was a sudden moan, shorn of its higher notes, stripped down to a primal cry of relief. Cinder trembled and thrashed, unable to escape the weight of the Faunus atop her, every inhale like a draught of poison burning down to the lungs. How long it lasted, Blake couldn’t truly say, enthralled with every sound and shift, the heat pouring off Cinder’s body like a wildfire waiting to surge through bone and flesh, consuming them both in an instant.

Eventually it ceased, the drop in temperature provoking a shiver as Blake managed to sit up, watching as Cinder rolled onto her back, content as a goddess pleased by an offering. There wasn’t a hint of fear or anger, only wry amusement.

“Do you feel like you’re in control again, Blake?” Thanks to the lines of purple and red fading before the Faunus’ eyes, Cinder’s voice was husky, lowered just a notch.

Blake blinked for a long moment, disbelief culling away the lingering ache of arousal. “You wanted me to snap.”

“What’s the point of all that power if you don’t use it?” Cinder asked, the question followed by a smile. “But you were certainly worth persuading.”

“Persuading?” One dark brow arched. “I could have killed you.”

“No, sweet.” Cinder’s hand rose, nails trailing across Blake’s cheek. “You don’t kill out of passion or because you want to. You do it because it’s necessary.”

“How would you know that?” The Faunus snapped, recoiling from the touch.

Cinder didn’t seem perturbed, hand idly dropping back down to the sheets. “Your reputation does precede you, and I know enough to discern rumor from fact. There is somewhat of a kinship in bloodshed, though. I know how it feels to take a life.”

“Who  _are_  you?” Blake let out a weak laugh. “I didn’t know your name until tonight, but I keep feeling like I should.”

“It was before your time.” Cinder answered simply, pushing a few stray silver strands away from her brow. “Take this as a sign to claim what life owes you before it slips away.”

That earned a deep frown, Blake’s eyes flickering towards their scattered clothes. “And what does life owe me?”

Cinder’s eyes brightened at the question, trailing down the Faunus’ body before halting at the chain freshly inscribed into taut lines of muscle. “You’re young enough to rebel against any answer I give. Which is charming in its own way, but would also be gravely unfortunate.”

“Do you lecture all your one night stands?” Blake asked.

“My roots as a teacher betray me.” Cinder shrugged, the movement languid. “Although I’m also a business partner now, aren’t I? Won’t Adam be expecting you back?”

He would be. Blake was surprised not to have heard the vibration of a scroll while knuckle-deep inside Cinder, keeping tabs to ensure the deal had gone smoothly. Perhaps there had been and neither of them had noticed. Perhaps this had all been some sort of test. The Faunus put both legs over the edge of the bed, leaning down to retrieve both underwear and trousers. A shower would have been nice, but there was something unsettling in the weight of Cinder’s gaze, searching for weakness, a breaking point.

“Tomorrow at the Blackjack.” Blake stood up, fingers occupied with the buckle of the belt, fumbling awkwardly. “Around seven or so. Wait at the bar until Adam arrives and you’ll get your Lien, provided you hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Will you be there?” Cinder asked.

Shirt halfway on, the Faunus paused to look back at her. “No.”

“That’s a shame.” There was no real regret in the words, especially not when Cinder seemed focused on examining the state of her nails. “Perhaps we’ll have a reason to speak in the future.”

“I don’t deal with clients.” Blake didn’t bother looking for where the ribbon had gone; there were plenty of others where it came from. “You were an exception.”

“I often am. Drive safely, Blake.” Cinder said.

Blake was out in the parking lot seconds after the words were said, heartbeat unsettled by the use of a flash-step in quick succession. The car was unlocked, limbs folding into the seat and starting the engine by rote.  _Fight or flight, Belladonna._ How easy would it be to take a hundred thousand Lien and drive out of Vale, catch an airship away from Vytal, away from everything? Hands gripping the steering wheel until it creaked, Blake let out slow breaths until the view beyond the windshield stopped being in sharp relief, adrenaline painting every shadow as a threat.

Humans, fucking humans. Blake put the car into reverse before jetting forward out of the lot, watching the speedometer creep to the right until white and yellow lines blurred together on the asphalt. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, that the White Fang had felt like a burden, a noose slipping tight, but it was the first time someone else had noticed. If Cinder could see, if a woman who only had a matter of hours to pierce the façade knew and felt bold enough to say so, then anyone could. Adam could.  _He_ could—

The approach of a hairpin turn forced Blake to slam on the brakes, almost careening into a guardrail. Rubber screeched and slid, an acrid smell filling the air as the car came to a complete stop, barely an inch from curved steel. Cold sweat soaked through the back of Blake’s shirt as the Faunus simply sat and breathed, ears straining for the sound of anyone else on the road. There was no one, no witness but the crumbling moon, cradled by the sky despite being split into a dozen pieces.

There had to be a way out. There  _had_  to be a way.


End file.
